


Talk some sense to me

by QueenBoo



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: And A Bit Of Humour, Baby Boosh, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, ju gets a bit drunk and says things that are cute, just pure fluff, mentions of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoo/pseuds/QueenBoo
Summary: People say all kinds of things when they're drunk. It just so happens that what Julian says is simultaneously thedumbestand yetsweetestthing Noel has ever heard.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentOrator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentOrator/gifts).



> Dedicated to my Boosh Wife, of course <3 
> 
> This whole short was inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://thestovetops.tumblr.com/post/632574431304335360/imagine-your-otp) and a lengthy discussion with [silentOrator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentOrator/pseuds/silentOrator) about how these two idiots are very good at not saying what they mean that _of course_ something like this would happen. Probably.

An endeavour into sobriety, while more a medical requirement than an active choice, is a hidden blessing for Noel. Being forced to take a break from one of his favourite vices was akin to undergoing a cleanse. He feels a little more awake in the mornings. There isn't the ever-looming risk of a hangover ruining his productivity. Colours seem brighter, birds sing sweeter--all that wonderful stuff. 

That being said, even blessings can come with their downsides. Sometimes Noel misses drinking. 

He especially misses drinking as he finds himself with a best friend, lover, and comedy partner who is just as guilty of indulging in a bender. Perhaps even more so than Noel ever had been. 

Julian Barratt is many things to Noel Fielding. He’s wise; even with only five years between them its enough to bring Julian a greater sense of maturity. He is ruggedly handsome. Julian is _hilarious._ He fills the spaces in a room like laughing gas, silently, but with an immediate joyous effect. 

To Noel, Julian is the embodiment of what home feels like. Meeting him had been the sensation of stepping into a familiar room with no memory of ever having been there before. He had recognised the wallpaper and the carpets but… the furnishings were new. Julian’s soul was a path well walked enough that Noel could navigate it with his eyes closed. Noel simply didn’t _want_ to. Because the pieces of Julian he would discover along the way were sickeningly exciting to learn. 

There are other things that Julian is; he's a man in his late twenties that plays in bands. He's a witty character that is attempting to make a name for himself as a stand-up comedian in his own unique little way.

Barratt is proudly Northern and as many Northerners were wont to do, Julian often reminds Noel that he could drink _any_ Southerner under the table

Noel is the Southerner. 

Upon their initial meeting, Noel had not been sick. In fact, Fielding vividly remembers that first interaction ending with him digging a crumpled fiver from his pocket and offering to buy Julian a dirt-cheap pint; an offer the taller man had accepted. Right before he had sat at the table with Noel and his friends for all of _five minutes_ then leaving without a word. The utter freak of a man. 

Several of their interactions after that had seen Noel, desperate to find any way to keep talking to Julian without seeming completely out of his mind, offering to have drinks and usually begging his mates to borrow a tenner here and there to do it. 

Alcohol was a perfect social lubricant for two funny--but slightly emotionally stunted--men that were trying their best to forge a friendship. 

Shortly after that (a _startlingly_ short period of time) they had found their feet in this new terrain together. Writing together became commonplace. Noel would more often than not wake in Julian's bed after passing out only to find Julian snoring beside him. They both realised what they had was something special, discovered that not only did their minds and personalities blend seamlessly, but their bodies did too (a discovery made sloppily with Noel on his knees in the bathroom of the Hen and Chickens) not a lot changed about their interactions. The fact of the matter was, they both liked a bit of a tipple and _especially_ when they were able to do it together; getting a bit tipsy and silly into the early hours of the morning was a hobby of sorts. Whether they were grasping for each other with high pitched giggles and wandering hands or frantically scribbling fantastical ideas into a notebook, it was a good use of their time in Noel’s opinion. 

But Noel had gotten sick. 

So he isn't drinking right now. 

The first few weeks, after the adrenaline of a trip to the hospital and a rather intense diagnostic process wore off, Julian had been an anchor. 

“Not much has to change,” He promised Noel late one night as they lay curled together in Julian's ridiculously large bed. “We can still go to the pub, we just drink soft drinks now.” 

“We?” Noel asked innocently, peeking wide eyes up at the older man. 

“We.” 

The way Julian had said it was like a man making an oath. Swearing a promise on fear of death. The intention being that he was going to attempt some sort of sympathy sobriety. The mere suggestion of which earned him a rather acrobatic expression of Noel’s gratitude. 

Alas, Julian isn’t exactly a drunk but he enjoys _a_ drink as much as the next man. 

The plea of camaraderie lasts a month, at most, and then Julian is being roped back into a pint or two after each of their successful gigs. The northerner will make the rounds with friends (mutual or otherwise) after they stumble off stage. People always want to buy them drinks after they’ve performed (congratulations or condolences, Noel was never certain) and since alcohol is off the table for Noel he begins to take great joy in uttering the phrase, “Ju will have mine.” 

Unsurprisingly, Noel still manages to have a great deal of fun on these ventures even when he isn’t getting drunk. On more than one occasion he plays witness to his comedic other half getting a little bit too intoxicated as he sips happily on lemonade and giggles at his antics. He is typically responsible for directing them both back to whoever's flat was the closest (usually Julian’s but on a few occasions, Noel’s and his disappointingly smaller bed). They'll fumble each other to orgasm on the nearest flat surface and collapse into a satiated heap together.

The following mornings are a tad nicer too in this new normal of their social lives; laying together in the patch of sunlight that Julian's window lets in, Noel typically wide awake on his newfound morning energy and coddling a grumpy Julian. The older man obviously hungover and sleep rumpled. There's no rush to drag themselves from the sheets on a morning like this. They kiss and giggle and eventually pull on clothing that belongs to each other; content to hang about the spacious bed bouncing ideas off each other. 

And other nights, the routine deviates. Noel is perhaps not up for being surrounded by drunk people when he himself is stone-cold sober. Some nights his energy wanes. Once or twice, Julian is simply planning on grabbing a quick drink with ex-bandmates or old friends and Noel doesn’t know them well enough to bother with tagging along. Those nights they part with a jovial exchange, they lead their separate lives for all of two hours, and then Julian will stumble home again. 

Inevitably, Noel is always waiting for his return. Too eager to witness the softness of him after a Guinness or two to sleep. 

It is one thing to be said about this whole wretched process. Noel comes to learn a few more things about Julian that he might never have; new forks in the road of his character. Like how his cheeks flush pink with the booze. How his voice cracks when he’s drunkenly ranting about whatever madcap topic he’s chosen that evening. How, sometimes, he’ll just stop mid-sentence--stuttering and slurring as he is--and grin at Noel like they’re sharing some incredible secret. 

Though the second Noel utters a shy _‘what?’_ , he is met only with a dismissive ‘ _Nothing_ ’. 

Julian Barratt is an _adorable_ drunk. 

So Noel doesn't mind that he can’t drink. He _really_ doesn't mind that Julian still does. He really _really_ doesn’t mind that some nights, Barratt will go and do it by himself. They aren't joined at the hip (but maybe they should be) Julian is allowed other friends (but Noel was his _best_ friend). It really isn't a big deal. 

Until it is. 

Until Noel's in Julian's bed--their bed--at 2 am and knows he’s got more chance of predicting tomorrow's lottery numbers than being able to accurately guess when his other half will be home. 

The gig they’d done that afternoon had been good. Good is an understatement, they had smashed it, and of course, the logical thing to do after a successful debut of new material was to celebrate. But Noel had been tired so he'd pecked his friend's cheeks goodbye, squeezed Julian's hand, and headed back to the flat for the night. 

Julian had slipped him the spare key to his flat, which Noel had assumed meant, _‘wait for me there’_. 

He's been waiting. Julian is yet to come home and he’s knackered enough that he's about to give up on his watch. Rolling onto his side in order to fall asleep sounds like a reasonable course of action right about now. Lord knows they had enough to do tomorrow, what with the Fringe scripts to finish and Julian had a call with his agent about some role. The thought barely finishes forming when Noel hears it. The scrape of a key against a lock, speaking to the person holding the key not currently being coordinated enough to successfully complete the unlocking process. 

Great, that’s the state he’s returning home in. 

Julian enters the flat. His steps are intentionally soft but uneven as he fumbles his way through the dark. Noel hears the crack of shins against the wooden coffee table; and as much as it makes him wince, the sound of Julian’s slurred apologies to the inanimate object does make him grin.

Creeping tiptoes continue their journey, and come to a stop outside the bedroom door. There they linger for a moment. No further move is made. Noel is waiting for the door to open, he’s lying on his side facing it just so Julian can see the upset on his features immediately. Whether the northern man will be able to properly handle said upset while smashed is another matter entirely. 

Julian opens the bedroom door like he's afraid of what he'll find inside. 

Very briefly, confusion flits across his features. A flash of shock and disbelief skittering into view and then instantly disappearing, like startled mice. Julian shuffles into the room, eyes fixed on the floor. At first, Noel assumes it is shame, after all, he is delivering his best _‘you fucked up’_ glare, and Julian never did take Noel’s anger that well when it was this direct. 

But as the bedroom door is clicked shut, and Julian ventures on unsteady feet towards his wardrobe, Noel recognises the downcast look. It’s bashful. Julian is wading through a pool of awkward that is entirely his own making and Noel has no idea _why._ The man is _shy_ in _his own_ bedroom while Noel, a man he has been _sleeping with_ for nearly six months, does his best to take a tantrum. 

What the fuck is going on?

Julian sways dangerously as he comes to a stop by the wardrobe. His jacket is shrugged off and--despite being stood right next to the place to hang it--deposited on the floor carelessly. Disoriented fingers get to work on his shirt buttons; the entire time Julian’s shoulders hunch in cloying embarrassment. It’s the same kind of feeling that usually only comes when they have tried new material and it didn’t land as they hoped. 

Noel goes from annoyed to panicked in one fell swoop. What happened between their silent agreement to spend the night together and this return home that has left Julian unable to look him in the face as he undresses. Why does he look so _uncomfortable?_

Even as clothes begin to disappear; the shirt slipped off and again left in a heap with the jacket. The jeans unbuckled and dropping around his ankles, Julian isn't trying to make eye contact. At least his eyes are no longer magnetized to his feet. The tiny brown peepers are instead darting about the room guiltily. It’s awfully reminiscent of a child caught with their hand in the biscuit tin. 

Noel wants to be sick. 

Who had he said he was going out with again? 

Where was it they had planned on going? 

"Are you coming to bed, then?" Noel asks, tries his utter best to sound annoyed. Though the end result is more of a vulnerable whisper. 

All of the confusing, hurtful, negative feelings don’t last much longer though. 

Julian's cheeks have flushed bright red and he utters, "No thank you, I'm sure you're a lovely lady…" in his drunken slur he trails off. 

Which is good, because, after a brief moment of his brain properly allowing Julian’s words to sink in, Noel is cackling ungracefully. It’s full-bodied, chewy laughter. If he wasn’t lying down already he’d have collapsed with the force of his relief and joy. Rushing over him like a tidal wave. 

Julian hasn’t done anything wrong, he is just an idiot. A drunk fucking idiot. 

There's no chance in hell Noel will be able to stay mad now. Not when he knows this is the point of intoxication his friend is at. So drunk he thinks Noel is not only a _woman_ but a woman that has crept between his sheets with the intention of doing something nefarious. 

"Julian, you idiot, I'm a bloke." Noel wheezes between laughter. 

"Ah" Julian raises his hand to cut him off. Noel snickers into his fist. The northern man swaying precariously as he explains. "I won't be falling for that one."

"If you'd come over here I'd show you" Noel insists. Even reaches for the duvet where it covers his bare body; but adorably, as he does, Julian clamps a hand over his eyes. "I am _literally_ a man. Please come to bed with me."

"No, no. 'm flattered, really but…" There's a little hiccup. Noel eagerly awaits the rest of that sentence. _But what Julian. But I'm not pretty enough?_ It’s not ideal that a drunk Julian is about to explicitly point out a reason why he wouldn’t want Noel, but if he’s started he may as well finish. It’s good to know where one stands, isn’t it? “But I--I have someone special in my life already."

Well. That’s certainly not where Noel expected to be standing. 

He melts. He might tear up. Just a tiny bit. It’s a hefty insinuation to be dealing with at nearly 3 am. Especially after everything that has been piling onto their plates as of late. Noel’s sickness and the development of Boosh and Julian trying to balance an actual acting career with everything else they’re doing. Sleeping together in secret despite the fact almost certainly everyone in their circle of friends _knows._

And it wasn’t like they talk about it either. This thing between them. Which is not a hindrance exclusive to the sexual aspect of their relationship. They don’t talk about sex but they also don’t talk about affection. Or the ability they have to see into one another’s heads so clearly. Their deep and unwavering understanding of one another despite their thus far fleeting connection. 

How would they even begin to broach the topic that, in an unspoken way, they have agreed they are one soul in two bodies. 

Noel’s reluctance to say anything stemmed from fear. Saying anything too serious could spook Julian away. If they wrapped themselves in labels it would suffocate them. Julian himself had once said he thought if you tried too hard to explain something you’d kill the magic. Noel didn’t want to be the one who held the murder weapon. 

But Julian… Of course, he inadvertently lays his cards on the table while he's _so pissed_ he can't even tell who he’s talking to. 

What a pair of utter tits. 

"It's me," Noel whispers, awed. Half trying to convince Julian and half coming to the realisation that his own importance in Julian’s life might just match how important he feels Julian is in his existence. "It's _me_ , Ju, I'm someone special."

"I'm sure you're very special." Julian placates. And if the interaction couldn’t get any more bizarre, Julian is carefully lowering himself to the floor and onto his pile of clothes. “But I'll just sleep down here."

And at this point, lost in his joy as he is. Noel stops arguing. It'll be Julian dealing with the backache tomorrow anyway. If nothing else, it would certainly be interesting to watch him wake up down there and relive this entire interaction. 

That’s if he remembers it, Noel is both saddened and humbled to think this might be something all for him. A secret little snippet of Julian’s commitment, to be stashed away and never mentioned. At least, not until a point the man could reiterate the point while sober. 

"Goodnight Mrs." Julian slurs from his position on the floor. He had pillowed his head on his balled up jeans and is using his Jacket as a makeshift duvet. Already, he is halfway to sleep. 

And Noel could not be more in love. 

"Goodnight Julian."


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Julian's drunken misunderstanding the night before. Noel might milk it a bit, Julian lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a chapter 2 to this silly little drabble, and to be honest, this was just a joy for me to write. I think I needed some tooth-rotting sweetness to cheer myself up so y'all can enjoy it too!

Julian's venture into wakefulness is slow and uncomfortable. 

It's like trying to wade through custard. Everything feels thick and goopy; he’s sinking slowly back beneath the surface even as he tries to fight his way free. Julian is experiencing a kind of heavy throb in his temples indicative of a monstrous hangover. His stomach churns unhappily as he shifts where he lays. 

Generally, he feels like shit. 

Without even opening his eyes, Julian knows he isn’t alone in his room. Mostly because these days he is rarely ever alone in a room, but the rush of sweet-scented perfume and the scratch of pencils on paper informs him that there’s another body in the room. And he’d know those context clues anywhere. 

Noel. 

"Why am I on the floor?" Julian grumbles into the air. He needn’t open his eyes, either, he  _ feels _ Noel’s responding grin like the gentle heat from a nearby radiator. 

"Oh look who's up!" Noel cries excitedly, it makes Julian wince. "It's the northern wonder, the walking brewery himself."

"I will  _ pay  _ you to lower your voice three decibels." Another grumble, this time Noel adds to his radiant happiness with a muted giggle. 

"I'd rather be poor and amused, thanks."

"Always knew you were a bitch" 

Noel snorts ungracefully, Julian smirks in response. "Not what you were saying last night, Ju."

This makes Julian crack one eye open. He peers up; Noel is spread out on his stomach, sketchbook open in front of him and a selection of coloured oil sticks in his hand (Julian’s complained about the stains on his sheets before but it turns out he’s easy to appease) and craning his neck over the edge of the bed to grin cheekily down at Julian. 

Noel does not elaborate further--he only grins wider, “Oh, he doesn’t remember!”

“Remember what?" 

"Your torrid affair with a lady of the night." Noel has directed his attention back to his artwork, careless in how he deals out information like a Victorian workhouse owner and Julian is a hungry orphan desperate for a second helping. 

Julian does his best to probe for the information he wants, "Is that what we're calling you now."

"It's what  _ you're  _ calling me."

At this point, the weight of his hangover and the ache of having slept on his bedroom floor combine into a discomfort strong enough that Julian decides this discussion can wait a few minutes. First, he is going to have to force himself properly into the land of the living otherwise he will get nowhere; not least because Noel has that look about him today. The one that says he's going to cause nothing but issues for Julian and he's going to  _ enjoy  _ it. 

“Alright Cryptic Ted, just bear with me a second.” He grunts as he presses himself to sit. Julian drags a palm over his features and sighs into his own palm. “Let me wake up.”

“Awh!” Noel’s tongue is caught between his teeth, he looks positively  _ gleeful _ . “Are my riddles too complicated for your poor booze-soaked brain, Ju?” 

" _ Anything _ you say is too complicated for  _ anyone’s  _ brain, Fielding.” Which in the language of Noel, is a compliment. 

Julian delicately gets to his unsteady feet. The world revolves around him in a frankly terrifying way; for a second everything is upside down and inside out but it settles soon enough when he steadies himself against the nearby dresser. He doesn’t think he’s going to actually be sick, but there’s a wave of threatening nausea laying low in the pit of his stomach. 

"I’d ask how much you had last night but I bet you don't remember do you?" Julian answers that question with a miserable excuse for a glare; Noel responds with a shake of his head that in some lights could read as amused-disappointment. 

From there the only logical thing Julian can think to do is leave and try to sort himself out. He shuffles off to the bathroom, leaving the soundtrack of Noel’s amused chuckles behind him, and deals with himself to the best of his ability. Julian splashes water on his face, empties his bladder and swirls some mouthwash around his mouth. If he were more inclined he would take a shower but the idea of a soft bed and Noel’s proximity is much more alluring. 

By the time he returns, Noel has tucked his art away and has flipped the corner of the duvet open as an invitation. It’s one Julian is happy to accept. 

"What time is it anyway?" Julian grumbles. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew they had things to be doing today. Scripts to write and people to talk to. All that fabulous stuff that comes with trying to make it in the performance industry. 

"Just gone eleven," Julian settles on his back; as soon as he lands in position Noel is at his side. The younger man rolls onto his side and props his head up on an elbow so he can beam down at Julian. "Don't worry, though. Called our agent, she's rearranged your meeting for tomorrow and we can work on scripts later when you’re feeling better."

"You're too good to me." Julian tosses an arm over his face in an attempt to block out any stray sunlight. 

Shortly after blindfolding himself, Julian feels the wiry fingers of Fielding settle into his hair. They pet and push soothingly over his scalp. “You think that,” Noel hums. “But I'm keeping an itemised list of all my charitable acts with the expectation you will be repaying me once I start drinking again."

With a snort of amusement, Julian mutters, "Charitable generally means out of the goodness of your heart."

"More like for the insurance of my already wounded liver." Noel teases; his fingers twist in Julian’s short curls. Brush at the crown of his head and it works wonders to soothe the ache in his head. 

"Hmm, might need more of a sympathy vote before I agree." Under the petting, Julian’s voice takes on a dreamlike quality. "What can your liver really offer me?" 

"He bakes."

"Oh does he?" 

"Mhm." Noel scratches nails across his scalp gently and Julian shivers. "And he's alright at crochet, could probably knock you up some cardigans."

"Well, in that case, thank your liver for rearranging my meetings today. I'll be sure to repay the favour at a later date."

"See that you do." Noel is chuckling softly. For a while they settle into this comfortable companionship; Noel continues to pet Julian’s hair in a soothing repetitive motion, and Julian doses in and out of consciousness. Eventually, Noel murmurs, "To be honest, Ju, I’m surprised you're even awake this early, you didn't get home until 3."

Julian wrinkles his nose in distaste of his own behaviour. "don't even remember getting home."

"Not shocking, you were  _ pretty  _ bladdered."

And it's at this point that Julian remembers something Noel had only hinted at that morning. Something Julian feels awake enough to tackle now. He carefully drags his arm away from his face and blinks up at his younger half. "What did I say last night?" Noel just blinks right back at him. "Last night, I didn't say anything bad did I?" 

"Depends on your definition of bad."

Julian winces. "What did I say?" 

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Noel’s gentle massaging hand retreats from Julian’s hair, instead, it drops to Julian’s bare chest and splays there. He’s refusing to look Julian in the face.

"Yes,” Julian insists. “I would, hence me asking," Noel says nothing, just smiles down at his hand on Julian’s chest shyly. It only increases Julian’s curiosity. "Noel?" 

"Julian."

"Are you being purposefully obstinate?" 

“Ooh,” Eye contact is achieved once more, Noel’s eyes are glittering with mischief and… worry? "That's a big word for someone who could barely stand last night."

"You're such a bitch."

Noel wrinkles his nose and chews on his lip. “Yeah, but a bitch you  _ love _ ."

Two and two clicks together; Julian stalls awkwardly in the face of what Noel is implying. 

_ Of all the fucking things to say when he was obliterated enough to not remember it. Good job Julian.  _

"Fucking hell," Julian wrinkles his features up in embarrassment. Noel also seems to be flushed on Julian's behalf. Peachy. Amazing. Just what he needed. “I didn’t.” 

"Not in as many words, but yeah."

"Sorry," Julian says quickly, a mistake, Noel is now flinching away from him. 

"Why?" Noel asks, vulnerable. "Do you not mean it?" 

"No. I mean--I... Shit. Hang on." Despite the fact his world revolves like a kaleidoscope and pitches his stomach into nausea; Julian pushes himself upwards on the bed. He lands his back against the headboard and opens his arms to urge Noel into his space. The younger man goes easily, plasters himself to Julian’s side and tosses an arm over his middle. Julian instantly buries his nose in the chopped locks of Noel’s hair. "I was more apologising for saying it  _ like that _ ."

Noel says nothing. He's tracing patterns on Julian's bare Stomach with his fingertips; drawing shapes and swirls that to him probably mean something sincere. Noel is at least listening; Julian can practically see his ears pricked in interest. 

Which makes this whole conversation harder. Saying meaningful things when your inhibitions are lower than the floor is easy. Saying them while stone-cold sober and looking Noel in the eye is startlingly different. 

Apparently, even drunk Julian hadn't been capable of saying it explicitly-- _ not in as many words _ Noel had said... 

"You alright, Ju?" Noel inquires gently, and by god he sounds so vulnerable, Julian could cry for him.

Noel wants to hear it again.

He wants confirmation.

Julian  _ wants  _ to be able to tell him again but the words catch in his throat. Words and phrases and syllables jostle around in his brain, fighting to be the one to lay the sentiment out there. He's so busy overthinking the best way to say it that he can't  _ actually  _ say it.

Noel, thankfully knowing him about as well as he knows himself, rolls his eyes fondly and takes matters into his own hands. Fielding swings one leg over Julian’s hip and settles in his lap facing him. 

"You came home and thought someone was in your bed," Noel explains, and he looks faintly amused by the whole thing rather than annoyed or upset. "I did try to convince you I weren’t a stranger. Tried  _ showing  _ you and all sorts but you weren’t having it.” 

Fragments of memory start to filter back in piece by piece. 

“Jesus… I remember telling some woman I didn’t want to go to bed with her."

"That was me.” Noel chuckles at least, he is back to drawing featherlight patterns on Julian’s chest. 

Julian doesn't remember much else about the night, trying to reclaim those memories was like trying to glue pieces of a broken mirror back together in the dark. "Christ, I must have sounded like an utter twat."

"You definitely did." The way Noel agrees is dripping with affection. "But a sweet one. Had me worried there was something wrong at first, ‘cause you were reluctant to even look at me. 

“No, just..." Julian tries his absolute best to verbalise drunk thoughts. “Might be miles off, I’m told I’m stranger drunk than I am sober--” Noel once again agrees with an eager nod. “--But I think maybe I thought…” 

Julian grunts in frustration as his mind once again fails to produce the appropriate words for what he is trying to communicate. Noel isn’t rushing him, though. Patiently, he waits, continues writing a veritable novel on Julian's skin by way of distraction. Noel is a fidgeter; he keeps himself busy with sound and motion and even now as he waits for affection to be laid on him, he fidgets. 

"I saw you and thought...there's no way this one is mine."

Noel flushes pink but his delight is flashing in his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

And now that he's Started, Now that Noel is flushing prettily on his lap, looking at him like he hung the moon--now he finds the confidence is present in' droves. This is usually how it works between them. Julian flusters and Noel will come along and impress confidence onto him like a potato print.

Now he has started Julian will not stop. 

"No matter how furious you look, you're not someone I'm worthy of." Noel continues to blush--Julian is empowered. He brushes Noel’s uncooperative fringe away from his forehead and drags the pad of his thumb over his stark cheekbones. “Even pissed I know that.” 

"If you were so drunk you can't remember getting home, how do you know I looked mad?" Noel asks, amused. 

"I don't." Julian grins up at him. "But you normally look mad if I come home after a long stretch of neglecting you; we all know my first priority should be to be here showering you with attention."

To Noel, this reasoning is sound, he ducks his head with a giggle. "Tell me more about what you thought when you got home then?"

Julian obliges easily, as he always does where Noel is involved. "I remember thinking how pretty you looked, wrapped in my sheets like a renaissance painting. All spread out in the moonlight--”

"Keep going."

"And shortly after realising that there was a radiant little  _ treat  _ waiting in my bed, I thought... but she's not the one I want." Noel is looking at him as a child at storytime. Wide awe-filled eyes and his mouth slightly parted on a silent gasp. "I have no idea why I thought you were a lovely little lady," he teases gently, "But maybe that's just because I've never met a bloke as pretty as you--" Noel wriggles excitedly. "--and even thinking you  _ were  _ a lady I still didn't want to be rude so…"

"You politely told me you have someone special in your life," Noel has never been one for subtly and Julian is equal parts grateful and annoyed at this fact. Even now the statement is an obvious question. 

_ Did you mean it? _

"I do," Julian answers semi-confidently. "Don't I?" 

Horrifyingly, Noel seems to have to think about this. Julian is forced to watch consideration flit over his sharp features for all of three minutes before the little brat finally says, "Yes… yeah, you do."

It's not as obvious as those 3 little words that many people choose to say. To many, it might not be as obvious, or even as meaningful. But the way they translate this language between them? They know. Noel sits forward and kisses Julian softly and then uses gentle palms to start to climb off him. “Now go shower you smelly bear, I’ll sort us some breakfast.” 

Noel leaps from his lap and practically skips for Julian’s bedroom door; before he goes he pauses, hesitates in the open doorway. With a demure little smirk, he utters; “I love you too, Julian.” 

It’s with more affection than is strictly necessary how Julian replies with, “Piss off you tart.” 

Noel received this reply with a wide smile and a gentle blush. He knows. 

They’ll always know. 

**Author's Note:**

> As ever I can be found on Tumblr:
> 
> @queen-boo / @aciientboosh


End file.
